


Let’s Debauch and Dine, this Valentine’s

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: The Johnlock Utopia (Holidays and Celebrations) Series [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fisting, Come Eating, Consensual Kink, D/s dynamic, Explicit Consent, Felching, Johnlock + Greg, Light BDSM, M/M, Not Poly, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Sherlock, Valentine's Day, butt stuff et al, just absolute filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: When Lestrade enters 221B Sherlock immediately deduces what has happened to him and what he really needs to do to let go of the part of his life that has come to an end.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Johnlock Utopia (Holidays and Celebrations) Series [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256318
Comments: 83
Kudos: 124
Collections: Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaceofMer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321)  
> whose Johnlockstrade fic inspired me to write it. Happy Birthday, Merinda! 
> 
> Betad by the lovely ladies: MsScarlet and WritingOutLoud!  
> This story is part of a happy and smutty ["The Johnlock Utopia Series"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256318)  
>   
>   
> Ch1 - Sherlock’s POV

“I see your wife finally left you,” Sherlock announced unceremoniously the moment Greg entered their sitting room. 

“Sherlock!” John chided, putting the newspaper he’d been reading on the coffee table next to his chair. 

“It’s true though,” Lestrade sighed. “But you don’t have to say it like that.”

“Can we do anything?” John asked, getting up.

Sherlock could see Lestrade’s eyes flash as they blew open for a moment before John continued.

“Maybe two fingers?”

Lestrade swallowed, his eyes bouncing to Sherlock then back to John. 

“Greg? Do you want two fingers of bourbon?” John repeated, levelling a questioning look at Lestrade. 

“I -- yes, I’d love some,” he said, his cheeks pinkening as he shed his coat and tossed it onto the sofa.

John frowned, shrugged, and went to the kitchen, leaving Lestrade to pace the room.

Sherlock took in the dishevelled look of the DI, the small smile John was hiding, and the clear tension in the room. Oh, John was good. Not as good at hiding things from Sherlock as he’d thought, but good at organizing events if he had enough incentive. Sherlock decided to play along.

Oh yes, the game was on, John Watson. 

John must have had a lengthy conversation with Lestrade several days before when they’d gone for a pint. This was clearly an orchestrated event and Sherlock was about to have a field day deducing the ins and outs, the whys and the hows of Greg’s proclivities in the bedroom.

Excitement grew in Sherlock and he assumed a relaxed position in his seat, already forming a plan of action. 

Blush still on his face, the DI accepted the bourbon from John and took a sip. 

“I feel like an idiot saying this, but I have no place to stay, I --”

“You can stay here,” Sherlock said, to Lestrade’s clear surprise. 

“Right, ah… that’s…”

“Now, kneel.”

“What?” 

“You were about to say that you could make it up to us and make a sappy speech about your wife. Boring.”

“Sherlock!” John scolded.

“Well, yes…” Greg agreed, holding onto his drink as if it were a raft on an ocean. 

“Good. Then kneel,” Sherlock said in the same voice he used on John when he was in the mood to top in the bedroom. It seemed to work on the good DI as well. 

Lestrade’s swallow was audible, but he put his drink aside and dropped to his knees.

The amber liquid in the glass moved like a small wave as it was placed on the side table. The tension in the room thickened. 

“I know what you need but you have to be aware of what you’re getting into before you agree.” Sherlock needed to be sure Lestrade was not desperate and he wouldn’t do something he might later regret and resent him and John for. 

“What do you --”

“Quiet,” Sherlock said in a decisive tone and watched the DI shut his mouth. Very good. “You need to be thoroughly used; you need a night of debauchery, a chance to forget your life and live in the moment. You need to be consumed by lust, need, and then pleasure. Nod if you agree.”

Lestrade nodded. The blush on his cheeks deepened and his mouth parted to let out the quick, shallow breaths he was taking.

“John and I can grant you that, provided you will keep the event and any information gained during it to yourself.”

Another nod from the DI.

“You’ll have to promise to use your safeword the moment you start feeling uncomfortable with anything being done to you or around you. I will not tolerate you playing brave or thinking you can take it if you clearly can’t. Understood?” Another quick nod of understanding. “Good. Now, what’s your safeword? You know what that is, right?”

Lestrade’s eyes bounced around the room, landing on the drink he’d left behind. 

“Bourbon,” he said, straightening his back in a move of decisive determination.

This was going to be a lot of fun indeed.

“John, tell us your safeword so Lestrade knows it as well.”

“Black,” John said, hands on hips, already showing signs of arousal. 

“Excellent. Now sit on the sofa, both of you.” 

Lestrade stood up obediently and walked across to John.

“Is he always like that?” he whispered.

“When he is in the mood to top -- oh yes. You’ve seen nothing yet.”

A small ‘oh’ formed on Lestrade’s lips as they sat next to each other. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” John asked, even though Sherlock had already deduced that they’d discussed it before. Despite the DI's earlier enthusiasm, John wanted to ensure Lestrade hadn't changed his mind.

“Definitely.” Greg breathed. “You?”

“Oh yeah,” John’s smile was sly before he bit his lip to look at Sherlock expectantly. 

“Are you done chatting?” Sherlock’s baritone filled the room and he basked in the effect it had on both men.

“Yes,” Greg replied, and Sherlock could see the small smile on John’s face as he nodded as well.

“Gryffin, help John undress. Slowly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg faces a decision whether to back away or say yes to spending the night with John and Sherlock.  
> Ch2 - Greg’s POV.

A rush came over Greg at the idea of seeing John naked. They’d been mates for years, meeting at the pub once a month, laughing, drinking… But never more. Even if Greg had occasionally felt something stir in his abdomen at John’s honest laughter or his friendly pat on the shoulder, he’d never dared ask for more until John had offered it himself the previous week. As for Sherlock… oh he would have to be a fool not to see his beauty. The harsh exterior and the poised unapproachability were what made him even more desirable. No wonder John had fallen hard and fast. 

Greg was used to having power in the force and occasionally in bed, but here, in the confines of 221B, it felt natural to follow Sherlock's orders. 

When he and John had met at the Lion’s Mane pub the week before, they’d decided on organizing this rendezvous as much for Sherlock as for themselves. They’d both agreed that the moment of surprise wouldn’t last long with the genius detective, as he’d deduce their intentions within moments. He probably already had. So they’d agreed not to share their past experience and preferences with each other to make it harder for Sherlock to deduce it all. “If you can’t surprise him, you can at least give him enough to deduce to make him happy,” John had said that day.

Coming back to the present, Greg turned to face John who tilted his head just a bit to the side and raised his eyebrows in question. 

Greg reached to cup John’s face, realising that his hair was damp and he smelled faintly of eucalyptus, presumably from a recent shower. Sliding his hand to John’s neck, he leaned in to unbutton the checkered shirt. John looked comfortable with the idea and it filled Greg with courage. He had never been shy by any means, but right now, he was glad that he wouldn’t be the first one to get naked.

John’s chest looked a lot better than Greg had expected as he slid the shirt from John’s shoulders. At Greg’s obvious surprise, John looked at Sherlock as if they’d had an entire conversation about it. Did Sherlock ask him to work out? Most likely; he’d have to lead by example. If John looked like this, then what was Sherlock hiding under those perfectly tailored clothes? He hoped to find out soon.

Greg traced his fingertips over John’s left pec up to the scar, then down to the abdomen to open the fly of John's trousers. 

“John, you can finish it yourself. Lestrade, strip,” came the commanding voice that worked on Greg like the strings on a marionette. 

They both stood, following the clear order. There was a smooth progression, a pace to it, and Greg was glad he was not calling the shots. It felt incredible to be able to enjoy the moment, to lose himself in watching John undress without knowing what their next directive was. 

The sheer mystery and anticipation were making his heart pound; the compact, strong build of naked John in front of him was setting him on fire. 

Greg rid himself of the entirety of his clothing with quick movements, tossing it all on the sofa. The whole time, his eyes were glued to John’s half-hard cock, already impressive in size; killer in girth. 

“The military and the police taught you both to follow orders so well. I’m impressed.”

Greg felt a blush spread on his cheeks at the praise. It was such a momentous thing coming from Sherlock. 

“John, kneel on the floor, hands on the sofa, and present yourself,” came the order. Gone was the voice of praise, but Greg knew he would try his hardest to hear it again. 

Greg watched John settle himself into place; his face atop folded palms on the sofa cushions, and his arse in the air. He looked relaxed. He’d said that he and Sherlock discussed the idea of a threesome before, but this was not what Greg had expected. He’d imagined some fooling around in bed, drunken laughter and groping. This, however, was so much better. 

In four long strides, Sherlock crossed the room and tilted his head, inspecting John. 

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” The question was uttered with such tenderness, it struck Greg as romantic. The utter love in Sherlock’s eyes was like nothing Greg had ever seen directed at him. God, the two were so lucky to have each other. 

“Very,” Greg answered, admiring John’s body.

“John is clean and so am I.”

“I’m clean too,” Greg assured them, knowing John had already seen his records. 

“Mmmm. Kneel behind John. You will prepare him for me with your lips and your tongue.”

The words made Greg’s cock twitch and he tugged it down just once. The relief was brief, but enough for him to focus on his task. One hand on his cock, the other on John’s arse, he knelt. 

“Did I say you can touch him?” Sherlock’s voice boomed behind him.

“No, but --”

“Hands off John and yourself. I don’t want you coming too soon.”

There was a sound of a drawer being opened and Greg’s wrists were pulled behind his back. 

“What’s your safeword?” The low voice in Greg’s ear made him shiver and he loosened his arms, ceasing his straining against Sherlock’s grip. 

“Bourbon.”

“Your hands will remain tied until I deem you ready to use them.”

Greg felt a rough rope tighten around his wrists and panic flooded his brain. He started to struggle on instinct, trying the expertly tied knot. 

“Just say the word,” Sherlock said, then licked along the side of Greg’s neck. “You’re safe here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Let it go or use your safeword.”

Greg sagged back to his heels, his head lolling back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. 

“I want this…” Greg confessed, looking up at Sherlock’s gorgeous profile. 

“Lips and tongue only.”

Greg nodded and knelt upright . Sherlock’s long, graceful fingers cupped his sack from behind and Greg released a shuddering breath at the touch. He felt pressure on his wrists then the end of the rope touched his sensitive flesh. This time, he didn’t panic. Instead, he let Sherlock bind his balls with the end of the same rope, not tight, but just enough to make him feel the bonds. When Greg pulled his wrists up, the movement deliciously tugged at his sac, and he released a soft moan.

Satisfied, Sherlock stood up and sat on the sofa, a foot from John’s face. 

Greg looked at the roundness of John’s arse, at his thick thighs, and stretched back. He hadn’t rimmed another man since uni days, and his encounters with men had been fast and brief during the era of his crumbling marriage. All of that combined made him long to feel his tongue enter John even more. 

“John is getting impatient here,” Sherlock stated, his hand playing with John’s short hair. 

As if to prove Sherlock’s point, John arched in a shameless move designed to entice Greg even more. It worked. 

Shuffling closer on his knees, Greg placed his right cheek on John’s bum. Keeping balance, he licked along the crease, but not deep enough to reach John’s entrance. Without the leverage of using his hands to spread him, Greg had to dive with his face to reach the centre. He was rewarded with a long moan from John that sent heat to his groin. Emboldened, he licked with abandon, sliding the tip of his tongue in. 

He was so enamoured with the sounds John was making, the moans that left his own throat, and the lush arse now wet with his saliva -- he didn’t notice Sherlock undress. 

When he came up for air, he saw Sherlock stark naked, cock in hand, and stroking himself in a languid movement. His eyes were on John’s face and the fire in them brought Greg a sense of accomplishment. Just for a moment, he let himself take in Sherlock’s leanly muscled chest and his forearm flexing as he spread his precome on his cock. Then, he went back to licking. 

“Enough!” Sherlock’s voice was akin to a growl as he gripped Greg’s hair at the nape to pull him away from John. “He’s ready,” he announced, reaching for a bottle of lubricant that was the size and shape of a gym water-bottle. “Sit back. You may watch,” he told Greg, but his eyes never left John. 

John flipped over as if knowing what Sherlock wanted and Sherlock dove to kiss him with breathless intensity. They were so gone for one another, Greg felt privileged to sit back and watch, let alone take part. 

There was a tenderness to Sherlock’s movements as he positioned John to lay vertically on the sofa, his arse above his head in the air. The lubricant Sherlock squirted on his cock and between John’s buttocks was thicker than any Greg had used before. It seemed to do a good job as the two long digits Sherlock pressed into John slid in with ease. 

“You’re so greedy, John. Your hole is sucking my fingers in.”

“Then stop fiddling and fill me up properly,” John snarked between soft moans. 

That earned him a hard smack on the arse cheek, making John suck in his breath and Greg tense in sympathy. Then a sly smile spread on John’s face as if he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. Oh, the play was a joy to watch. 

Slicking himself up with one hand, Sherlock bent John with the other as he positioned himself, putting John’s ankles over his shoulders. 

Greg watched, mesmerised as Sherlock’s impressive length disappeared into John. They both moaned and Greg felt his cock twitch as his own precome slicked his thigh. 

Sherlock sped up, his hips snapping hard and fast, eliciting wet, slapping sounds, making the moment seem like a lewd dream. 

“Sherlock, come on,” Lestrade whined, impatient, needing to be either untied or fucked just as mercilessly. 

“Only John is allowed to call me that during sex,” Sherlock snapped, never ceasing his movements. “It’s Sir to you, Graham.” 

Greg’s lips parted, quick breaths escaping as he swayed from the need coursing through him. 

“Yes, Sir,” he whispered.

“I didn’t hear you,” Sherlock challenged.

“Yes, Sir!” he shouted.

“Good. You may rut against the sofa until I’m done with John.”

Greg shuffled on his knees to seek a sliver of relief. He groaned as the movement tugged on his tied sac, and levelled his groin with the side of the sofa. His eyes closed from the tiny moment of bliss he got from the contact before he snapped them open to continue watching the scene before him. 

John held onto his own thighs, looking up at his lover, who was pumping John’s cock. A high sound left John’s lips that vaguely sounded like Sherlock’s name.

“Not yet,” Sherlock panted, squeezing John’s cock just below the crown. John mewled, releasing a string of curses. Then he breathed deeper even though Sherlock was still pounding into him. “Good boy,” Sherlock praised, “That’s my good boy… ahhhh!” Sherlock’s thrusts became less coordinated but quicker until his entire body tensed.

“Oh Joooohn!” he exclaimed, throwing his head back as he stilled, his hands on John’s hips as if he were holding on himself instead of holding John in place. Every lean muscle on his chest and arms strained -- presenting his beauty in throes of ecstasy. “Amazing,” he whispered, pulling out and leaning to kiss John’s parched lips. 

It was most probably the first time Greg had ever heard Sherlock say the word, especially directed at someone else. It was usually John who gave out the praise, so it seemed as if he was a witness to one of the special moments that the public was never privy to. 

Greg’s eyes travelled to John’s hole, a trickle of come adorning the slick rim. With a gentle touch, Sherlock slid two fingers, scooping. Greg sucked in a breath along with John, but for an entirely different reason. 

“Someone wants a taste. Open,” Sherlock lifted his fingers, turning to Greg. 

Upon parting his lips, Greg was rewarded with the taste of Sherlock’s fingers, dripping with come. He sucked, for the first time feeling that there was nothing he could be ashamed of in this small company -- not his preferences, not the way his body looked, not his need to be used by these two. 

“Very good,” Sherlock cooed, taking Greg by the hair and holding him in place to replace his fingers with his flagging erection. Greg licked the sensitive flesh gently, drawing a hiss from Sherlock nonetheless. “I can tell you want more. Now be good, and clean up John as well,” Sherlock said, his voice softer than before as he pulled out of Greg’s mouth. 

Greg felt he did well by the tone itself and he shuffled towards John as ordered. John spread his legs. His thick cock lay heavy on his abdomen but it was not Greg’s task to taste it. Instead, he lapped John’s hole again, feeling the texture of the lubricant more than its taste. It was mixed with the tangy, rich taste that was Sherlock’s release. 

His face was still between John’s arse cheeks when he let out a long moan as Sherlock’s lubed finger breached his entrance. He pushed back on the hand, taking in the digit as far as it would go. The low chuckle from behind caused his body to shiver in response. Instead of asking for more, he opted for showing how good he was and how much he deserved it. He slid his tongue into John, cleaning out the remnants. As he’d predicted, he was rewarded with another digit -- the two massaging his prostate until all he was able to do was moan into John’s inner thigh. 

Finished with his task, Greg looked at John, who mouthed ‘thanks’ and winked. Sherlock’s fingers retreated and Greg turned to look up at Sherlock, expecting the next order.

Sherlock knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek. His large palm enveloped the side of his face and he felt the comfort Sherlock offered by the small gesture. “You did well. You deserve to be filled up,” Sherlock said and Greg nodded, squirming, and tugging his restraints. “I saw you looking at John’s cock. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

Greg nodded.

“Speak.”

Greg swallowed.

“It’s magnificent, Sir.”

“Do you want to feel it inside you; stretching you?”

“Yes, please… Sir.”

Sherlock smiled a genuine, beautiful smile, making Greg feel as if he’d won a prize. 

He’d earned everyone’s respect and trust in the force. He’d even earned Sherlock's trust, as far as it went. Now, he’d earned Sherlock’s approval. 

“Excellent. When I untie you, I want you on all fours in the middle of the room,” he said, loosening the rope. “John, are you ready?”

“Oh yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sitting room of 221B becomes the epicentre for the resolution of carnal desires.  
> Ch3 - Sherlock’s POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the new tags added for this chapter before you proceed.  
> Thank you!

Positioned on all fours in the middle of the 221B sitting room, Greg kept glancing at the door. They’d been at it for a while, so it was time even for Lestrade to start wondering what happened to the lovely, albeit nosy, landlady. 

“Mrs Hudson is out,” Sherlock said to ease Greg’s mind. “John got her tickets for a ‘Fast and Furious’ marathon at the Odeon.”

“How did you deduce that?!” John exclaimed with disbelief. “I used cash to pay for those!”

“Mrs Hudson told me,” Sherlock’s smug grin was infectious enough for all of them to chuckle. 

Greg’s laughter died down when Sherlock's finger traced his body from his crease, along his back and to his hair where he took a chunk into his grip. Older than both him and John, Greg’s body was in surprisingly good shape. The prominent calf muscles, lean back and abdomen suggested he’d taken up playing sports. Football most likely, knowing his obsession with watching 11 men kicking a piece of inflated leather. His classically handsome face, now flushed with desire, added to the beauty of their first guest for the new bedroom experiment. Or sexperiment, as John coined it. 

It had taken Sherlock months to open up to John and give over control to him. He was not ready to do that with Lestrade, but the fact that they’d known each other for a while helped him relax. The initial feeling of unease that he’d experienced upon realising what the evening had brought was easing as time progressed. 

He pulled Greg’s hair enough to make him look up. The flutter of the DI’s eyelashes signalled that he enjoyed the rougher treatment, especially when peppered with praise. Sherlock was very familiar with that particular set of proclivities. 

“Do you want John to fuck you?”

“Yes…” Lestrade moaned, already arching. 

Sherlock let go of his hair to deliver a smack on the DI’s buttock, hard enough to leave a handprint. 

“Yes, Sir!”

Sherlock let himself revel in the sound of absolute compliance in the tone of Greg’s voice. The honorific helped Sherlock ignore his instinct to treat Greg as an equal in decision-making. This night was not about the life out there, it was about all of them getting what they needed. An adventure for John, an experiment for Sherlock, and a much needed, thorough fucking for Greg. Here, in this house, in this situation, it was Sherlock’s prerogative to set the rules. 

“John?” Sherlock prompted and his fiancé positioned himself behind Lestrade, the bottle of high-grade lubricant in hand.

“I want John’s thick cock to fill you until you scream. But we can’t alarm the neighbours. Fortunately, I have a solution for you.” Cock in hand, Sherlock stood in front of the DI. “Can you deduce what it is?”

“You want me to suck your cock?” Lestrade asked, his pretty, deep-brown eyes pleading. 

Sherlock looked to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.

“Would you like me to suck your cock, Sir?”

“Yes. You may moan around it, but no teeth, understood?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“John, you may proceed.” 

John was generous with the lube when he slid two, then three fingers in, twisting his wrist, stretching the DI properly. 

Greg released a tiny sound before his chest rumbled with a growl of pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed and he nuzzled his face into Sherlock’s shin. 

“Talk to me, John,” Sherlock said. 

“He’s tight, but I’m sure he can take it,” John replied, focused on his task. “Breathe, Greg, relax. Oh, that’s it.”

His chest gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat and Sherlock had the sudden urge to lick it. Instead, he knelt in front of the DI, his knees reminding him why they should have moved to the bedroom. 

Sherlock’s cock was at half-mast, nearly recovered from his previous orgasm, when he slid its head along Letsrade’s lips. Greg opened immediately, licking along the slit, and under the crown, teasing the frenulum. 

Oh fuck, he was good. 

Sherlock’s moan must have goaded Lestrade enough to wrap his lips around the head and hollow his cheeks. Sherlock sucked in a breath. 

“Slowly,” he moaned, brushing the strands of shiny, silver hair from Greg’ forehead. “Go on, John.” 

From his vantage point, Sherlock saw John pour lube with complete disregard of the oriental rug underneath them. Lestrade’s sucking ceased and the needy groan that came out of him signalled that the head of John’s cock was in. 

John pushed in halfway, poured more lubricant, then slid all the way in with a wet slap.

A wail came out of Lestrade even as his mouth was full of Sherlock's cock. 

“I know,” Sherlock said, petting Lestrade’s hair. “He feels divine. At first, I wasn’t even sure if I could take him. It took practice. But look at you… so adept. Beautiful.”

Lestrade moaned again and resumed his sucking, looking up at Sherlock with eyes clouded with carnal hunger.

“I think he can take more,” John said, moving his hips, making wet sounds as their bodies slapped together. 

“Can you take more, Gavin?”

“Mmmhmm,” Lestrade signalled, never releasing Sherlock’s cock. 

“Do it,” Sherlock commanded, nodding at John.

John gave him a wicked smile before he stilled and slid a finger next to his cock.

“Oh fuck, Greg,” John gasped, his lips parted as he took a deep breath, then another.

“I think we can deduce that our friend here had been experimenting more than he’d led on,” Sherlock surmised, sliding in and out of the DI’s mouth. 

Lestrade nodded, his watery eyes lifting to Sherlock. 

“Random men?”

Lestrade nodded.

“Then toys?”

Another nod.

“You wanted to feel that fullness and the stretch, didn’t you?”

A blink for a yes this time.

“And you feel it now... Another finger, John.”

“Oh fuck,” John groaned, as his second digit disappeared into their friend. “I’m coming, Sherlock, oh God…”

“Very good,” Sherlock praised. “Go on.”

Lestrade moaned, closing his eyes.

“Not you!” Sherlock snapped. “You are not to come until I tell you.”

Lestrade whimpered, slobbering around Sherlock’s cock, breathing through his nose. 

John tossed his head back and barked out a curse, then Sherlock’s name, then a series of incoherent words as he shot into the DI. He thrust hard once, twice, stilling after the third.

John rested his cheek in the middle of Lestrade’s back for a moment, then placed a small kiss there as he pulled out. He sat on his heels, his head tilted to the side as he looked at Lestrade’s hole, now dripping. Tracing a finger around the rim, he looked up at Sherlock. 

_ Oh, John, you’re brilliant. _

“John, make sure he doesn't touch himself. I’ll be right back.”

After a quick jog upstairs to their bedroom, Sherlock presented John with two options. 

In his right hand, he had a bottle of water-based, Titan Men cream and a pair of black, latex gloves. In the other -- a bottle of slicker, oil-based Gun Oil lube. 

Seeing it, John grinned like a child in a sweet shop. They’d been prepared for a possibility where either, or both, of them, would be ready to try it, but now they’d have an opportunity to practice. John indicated his choice with a finger. 

“Do you think you can take John’s fist, Griffin?” Sherlock asked, moving closer. 

“Oh…” Lestrade seemed to consider it as he looked up at what Sherlock was holding. His eyes lit just like John’s had a moment before. “Yes, I can.” He nodded for emphasis. “Sir.”

“Don’t play brave. Are you sure you want to try it?”

“Yes Sir, I’m sure.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Bourbon.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said, tossing the black, plastic jar to John who caught it as if they’d rehearsed. Placing the other lubricant on the floor, Sherlock handed the gloves to John. 

“Look at me, Gustav. I want to see your face,” Sherlock said, sitting cross-legged in front of Lestrade. He knew how using the wrong name irked the DI. Now, it helped to ensure Greg knew his place in this scenario.

Greg looked eager, yet the sweat on his forehead spoke of the enormity of the restraint he had endured so far. Above the silver hair, Sherlock saw the focused expression on John’s face as he prepared his station on a tea tray he’d grabbed from the coffee table. 

Their gazes met when John snapped the black, latex gloves on one hand, then the other. A shiver ran through Sherlock as he saw that John had left the building. Now, it was Doctor Watson kneeling there to deliver a thorough examination. 

John’s paste-slick fingers went in and Sherlock knew the moment he massaged Lestrade’s prostate as the man keened, swaying. Sherlock took Greg’s face in his hands and levelled his eyes on the man.

“Just tell me when it’s too much. We can stop at any moment.”

“No,” Greg breathed, licking his parched lips. “Good… so good…”

Sherlock got up to get a glass of cold water from the kitchen, the cold floor briefly soothing the heat in his body. 

“Drink,” he said, placing the rim of the glass at Greg’s lips as he returned. The man took two sips, then turned his head away and Sherlock resumed his cross-legged position.

“John, I want to hear it.” 

“Now three fingers. Easy,” John said, his hand moving, his eyes glued to his task. “Now four. Greg, I wish you could see how beautifully you’re taking my fingers.”

“Breathe slowly, relax your muscles,” Sherlock murmured above Lestrade’s lips. 

Lestrade flicked his tongue out but was unable to reach Sherlock as he pulled away. Sherlock wasn’t ready to share the intimacy a kiss brought. Not yet. 

“Ahhh tease,” Lestrade moaned, then corrected himself. “You’re a tease, Sir.”

“I think he’s ready for the rest,” Sherlock smiled, his fingers brushing Greg’s hair back. 

John nodded once.

“Here comes the tricky part,” John said, then slathered more white paste over his entire palm before he moved in. “Fuck, oh goddamnit, Sherlock…” 

“Mooore!” Lestrade cried out. “Oh God, John, please!”

John looked up to Sherlock, who nodded, supporting Greg’s upper body by letting Greg rest his head on his shoulder. 

A shuddering breath left John the moment Greg’s groan turned into a lascivious whimper. 

“I’m in,” John said, awe in his voice. 

“How does it feel?” Sherlock asked close to Greg’s ear. 

“Good. I want to come. I want to come so badly… Please, Sir.”

“Not yet. Let John play for a moment first,” he soothed, caressing Greg’s shoulder. 

John’s approving grin said it all as he got to work. He moved his free hand to take Greg’s cock and tugged it gently. 

The DI hissed then moaned as John pumped, moving his other hand to the same rhythm. The lewd, wet noise, John’s flushed face, and the obscene words mixed with the incoherent noises coming from Greg made Sherlock squirm as heat bloomed anew in his abdomen. 

“He’s tightening up. I don’t think he can last any longer,” John announced.

“Is that true?”

“Yes, Sir…” Lestrade whispered into the crook of Sherlock's neck. 

“Then take my cock.” 

Lestrade nodded and opened wide; his hands and legs already trembling with the withheld orgasm. Sherlock repositioned himself and slid his cock into the awaiting mouth. 

He gave John a nod. Understanding, John upped the pace with both hands. 

The high, wailing sound from Lestrade was the epitome of a man on the brink of shattering. 

Perfect.

The glorious view of John’s hand disappearing into Greg and the DI’s mouth sucking Sherlock’s cock were more than enough for Sherlock's second orgasm to come forth. 

“Shake your head if you don’t want to swallow because… ahhhhh…You may come now,  _ Greg _ .” 

Tears rolled down Lestrade’s cheeks as he looked up with gratitude before he shut them tightly and keened around Sherlock’s cock. His body straining, every muscle quivering.

Sherlock’s ecstasy took over him and he shot into Greg’s mouth before their uncoordinated movements, disconnected them. Spurts of his come landed on Greg’s face and shoulder as the man kept coming, completely undone. 

He was a picture of a man in the throes of the orgasm of his life.

John removed his hand from inside the DI but stroked for a moment longer until Lesrade’s limbs gave out and he slumped onto the oriental rug, head in Sherlock's lap. 

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock rasped, caressing Greg’s back in small circles. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said, kissing John’s cheek as the man joined him on the rug, close to Greg’s face. 

“What for?” John said with mock-innocence, taking the gloves off and tossing them back on the tray. 

“For organising this evening.”

“When did you figure it out?”

“The moment Greg started blushing looking at you.”

“Of course -- at the very beginning!” John chuckled. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock.”

Sherlock petted Greg’s hair, then continued caressing his back, looking for signs of a drop. The DI, however, seemed to be taking the events of the evening with commendable grace.

“I’ll text the cleaning service to come in an hour. We don’t need to look at the mess we’ve made at morning tea,” Sherlock surmised, taking in the stained rug and sofa. “You can take my old room for your stay here, Lestrade. The clothes in the wardrobe should fit you and you’ll find fresh linen in the dresser. The bathroom downstairs is for your use exclusively. I’d suggest taking a bath.”

“Thanks. That’s… very kind of you,” Greg sounded surprised and Sherlock couldn’t blame him considering his past experience with Sherlock’s hospitality or lack thereof. 

“Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Just don’t touch anything on the bottom drawer,” John added, glaring at Sherlock with soft fondness. “If you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. How about you two?”

Greg flipped his head to the side to look at John.

“We have a bathroom upstairs now too, adjacent to my old bedroom,” John explained, tracing a finger through the remnants of Sherlock come on Greg’s face then licking it off; the gesture kindling a tiny spark in Sherlock.

“Right, I’ve never seen it after the renovation.”

“Maybe you’ll have a chance tomorrow,” Sherlock said, intentions clear in his voice as he glanced at John looking smug. “If you’d like of course.”

“Mmmm I’ll let you know in the morning. Right now, I need a few more minutes just like this.” He repositioned himself to lay on his side, able to see both John and Sherlock. “You always deliver on your promises, you cocky bastard,” Greg rasped, grinning wide.

The chorus of low chuckles filled the sitting room, rendering the evening an indisputable success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete! I have a fair chunk written for the "day after" shenanigans, but I'm not sure if I'll post it. For now that's it. Thank you for reading this absolute filth :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments! They mean a lot and keep me writing!  
>   
> If you enjoy my writing consider subscribing to [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine):)  
> If you enjoy happy and smutty stories like this one, check out my ["The Johnlock Utopia Series"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1256318)  
>   
> To read more Johnlock Valentine's Day fics from other writers (or add your own), check out: [Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Be_My_Valentine_Johnlock_Collection)  
> You can follow/contact me on:  
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> For queries connected with translating my work, please see my bio :)


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